


The Tale of Two Fates

by Tolpen



Category: Death and Taxes (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Chapter 3 is "story summary", Don't copy to another site, Office, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Takeover Ending (Death and Taxes), Worldbuilding exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26301601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tolpen/pseuds/Tolpen
Summary: Grim (That is You!) has taken over as new Fate (That'sstillYou!). To the surprise of practically everybody, there is one Being in the Office whoknowswhat to do now. More or less.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. To Do:

**Author's Note:**

> And here I am again, writing extremely niche things instead of what I should be doing with my real life, or at least what is my self-imposed duty to actually write.  
> I've been playing Death and Taxes for literally two days, of that yesterday so much the I became physically sick and had to sleep through the rest of the day. The only good thing that came out of that was that the Fate's Pet ending, which this morning, put a stop (at least a temporal one) to all Death and Taxes The Stanley Parable crossovers, so you all are spared having to look at something tagged as such.

So that's it, you suppose. You are going to sit down on this chair, because someone has to. Lady Pawdington can't oversee the Equilibrium all by herself. And so that is what you do, and you have to pat yourself on the back for not trembling and instead moving smoothly and precisely as if you had it all thought out and calculated.

You don't look at Fate as he puts his things into a cardboard box. Truth be told, you have absolutely no idea which things are his and which belong to the Office. He could be quite literally stealing and you would be none the wiser.

You are not looking at Fate as he picks up the box which is nearly empty anyway, and you are still not looking at him as he leaves and quietly closes the door on his way out. You hope that it gives you some cold or at least cool visage, marking you as efficient or uncaring. Granted, of all those things you are efficient at best, and you have simply sort of zoned out staring out of the window at the clouds passing against the blue sky, lightly pondering what comes up next.

Well... This is your chair now, isn't it? And your office. Your working space. You have pretty much said that to fate. As the sky turns to orange, you reach the conclusion that you cannot just simply sit there and do nothing. That would make you even worse at this job than Fate. You gently remove Lady Pawdington from your lap. When did she get there, how long has she been there, and why was she purring? Time to get things moving, and by things you mean your behind.

The first thing you do: Go to the Grim Office. You realize it is late and it is going to be closed now only in the moment the elevator dings and the door open for you to face the door. The door is going to be locked. You know that, you had already tried several times to enter outside of the office hours. But if you back out now, you miss the opportunity to shake and struggle the doorknob until the whole large two winged door rattles while you curse your misfortune. It is rather cathartic, and you crave some relief.

You reach out for the doorknob and give it a tug, because the sticker on the glass pane says “PULL”. The door opens with a click, and Equilibrium's buttocks you were not expecting that!

Well, here you are now. Better to do your business here quickly, because the ghost-janitor is glaring at you in an unfriendly manner.

“Evening,” you wish them shyly.

They nod. “Don't step on the wet spots. I've just cleaned here.”

You have no intentions of stepping on the wet spots even though your shoes are pristine clean. They've never stepped outside of the Office after all. The most difficult terrain you ever had to cross was the short-haired ink stained carpet in Fate's office. Your office. It is your office now.

Anyway, before you get yourself spiralling into a mental crisis of sudden new responsibilities which you have only a very vague idea how to handle, you step to your old desk. Under it is an old box from Mortimer's. You should have returned it to him a couple of days ago, but you've been busy and never found the time... Good for you, because you are now about to put all things from this desk and drawers into that box of cheap frilled cardboard, and then move them into your new office.

That is exactly what you do. You move the cactus, and fidget spinner, even the whole lamp, and the spare change you've kept in the drawer and completely forgot about. Actually, you put those coins into your pocket. They whisper soothingly tonight. The last to go to the box is the commemorative plaque. You are not exactly sure how you are feeling about it...

You suppose that the desk in your office can home all of these just fine. Lady Pawdington can use the plaque for the Best Newcomer as a scratch board, should she so desire. Only the fax machine is left behind. You hear the door click locked when you leave.

The second thing you do, after moving your things, is visiting Mortimer and returning him the box, now empty. He doesn't notice you; he is busy stitching... stitching two pieces of cloth together, and you don't really want to talk to him right now, so you just drop off the cardboard and leave.

The third thing you do is that you hit the bar. You do this because you remember you have those money to spare. While you are not planning to get drunk, you think that a shot of something stiffer might help you to digest all that has happened. Aren't you technically a minor, being only 28 days old? On the other hand, you were made eternally old.

You hadn't been to the bar before. There wasn't really a reason nor the opportunity. Besides, you have the vague feeling that Fate wouldn't have approved of you being here. Fate isn't here to order you around now, though, for good or for bad.

The bar is heavy with the smell of tobacco smoke, you suppose it fits because smoking kills. It also smells is liquor and stale beer. It is predominantly deep green, some silver accents, and dark wood. No mirrors, but a lot of chairs and bar stools around tall tables. At the entrance is a bad, and at the far end of the room a pool table. Or perhaps a billiard table. One of those games where you poke heavy balls with a stick on the table and are trying to either put other balls into holes or avoid those same balls getting into the holes, or maybe just for the balls to touch each other.

Amazing how you have this sense of what pool and billiard are, because this is the first time in your existence you've encountered these. You decide to sit down close to the pool table to learn by observation, because there is a match going on.

A skeletal waiter approaches you and puts down a tall glass of sparkling white wine spritzer in front of you even before you open your mouth to say that you haven't decided on what you are having. She drops in a straw, and next to it she puts down a note-paper on which she graciously puts one single tally mark. You have to say that while you don't know how about the goods, the service here is impeccable, because once you take a sip, you realize that this is exactly what you've wanted.

Your observation of the ball-poking game is cut short when the ghost and the obviously carnivorous hoard of tentacles in a suit conclude that someone has won and leave the table. You are on your second spritzer by that time, and it hasn't made you feel any better. It also hasn't made you feel any worse, though.

You are seriously considering to pay for your drinks and leave as you approach the bottom of the glass. You are feeling terribly out of place here. The only two other Grim Reapers in this place are having deep shadows under their hoods so you can't see their heads, both are producing almost all of the smoke curtain in the room, and neither of them seems keen on sitting down next to you to make you feel a bit less lonely.

Before you reach any decision, three people approach the pool table. One of them is winged, the second has horns and a tail with a spike, the last one is wearing glasses and a yellow hairband. There is a low conversation between them, and then the Angel and the Devil, as you have decided to for now call person one and person two in your head, pick up the cues, while Glasses begins to remove balls off the table until there are only three left.

“You start, Virtue,” Glasses nods to the Angel. “Absolutely no cheating.”

The air around the pool table tenses, and while you have no idea what rules they are adhering to and why the lack of balls makes the game more intense, your eyes are completely enthralled by the display. That is until Virtue's cue pokes the white ball too low and too forcibly, and the heavy round projectile hits your shoulder before you can duck.

“Ow!”

“I say, you could at least hand the ball back instead of sitting there like an useless tool,” says Virtue with a scowl. Obviously this wasn't supposed to happen, and obviously they are more concerned about loosing some amount of points or get a strike or whatever, and your well-being which they endangered significantly is of absolutely no concern to them.

“I say, you ought to apologize first, you... you Being.” Well, at least you tried to sound authoritatively, but you didn't succeed much.

Glasses probably rolls her eyes behind her ever-gleaming glasses as they say: “Please, don't make this difficult. Just hand the ball back.”

You decide to be resolute: “Not until they say they are sorry.”

“Oh yeah? I say, who are you to meddle between Vice and virtue, huh?”

“I am Death spawn-” You aren't actually a Death spawn now, are you? “I mean, I am Fate.”

“Of what?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Of what are you the Fate?” Glasses unfolds her hands, previously crossed on her chest. She speaks slowly, as if to a particularly dense child. You have never actually heard anyone talking to any kind of children, but you still don't like the tone.

Of what you are the Fate? Good question, you suppose. You have taken over Fate. What was he the Fate of?

“The Fate of Humans?” You decide to try that.

“Are you now? Aren't you this a bit shorter fellow, half the patience, but double take, slick hair. Wears a bow tie. I saw them on the morning board meeting, and you sure as Equilibrium aren't them.”

“Oh, that.” You sound a bit apologetically as you speak, which probably isn't doing much for your reputation. “I am new.”

Suddenly you feel many eyes focused on you. You look up: Glasses is glaring and somehow their pencil skirt makes them look especially menacing. Someone else with a bob-cut, cat ears, yellow choker, and glasses is glaring at you from the corner. Another person who looks like a king cobra in a sleek suit with yellow neck tie and eyeglasses on their nose is glaring at you. People with glasses and yellow accessories, and they all are drilling their hidden stares into you, and you realize that they all are Fate.

The silence is so dense and profound that it pushes away the heavy curtain of smoke, and the air is for a moment a less fouler to taste. Not that it makes much difference for you, because even if you were breathing, you would be holding that breath right now.

You are a fraud.

An imposter.

A Void.

Zero.

Nothing.

Fake.

“See?” The Fate with the head of a king cobra noticeably hisses when they speak. “I told you all. I told you Months ago.

You Extend your hand forward and drop the ball to the floor so that everyone sees it. It rolls to Virtue's feet. Virtue picks it up and their pale face looks a bit ashamed as they mumble: “I am sorry, Fate. It was an accident.”

You say: “Nothing happened.”

You are quite a good liar for keeping a straight face, because awfully lot happened. A bit too much even for your tastes.

The fourth thing you do: You go to bed and sleep.


	2. Signing Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have been Fate for about twenty minutes now, and you are this close to loose it. But all you have lost so far is your cat.

You wake up early, and without the need to recapitulate to yourself what happened yesterday. Even so you've already managed to think about it and it is making you restless, so you don't manage to take the advantage of having the few moments just for yourself to be snuggled in a cozy bed. Also, you are feeling a bit tired, you assume that is how it is if your body has to process a bit of alcohol overnight. You aren't used to drinking...

The first light of the day finds you staring blankly at the mirror. Somehow you expected you would have something to tell to yourself, but there is nothing. It is just you staring at yourself.

“Fair. Be seeing you,” you say with a sigh as you decide to head to Fate's office. Your office. Keep reminding yourself, your office. You are the Fate now.

You are greeted by Lady Pawdington sitting attentively on the desk, tail swishing from side to side. She meows.

“Good morning to you too.”

She meows again. Only then you really pay her attention and notice two things in front of her: A pair of glasses, not completely unlike your academical one, and a yellow bow tie. You take the glasses and examine them. Lady Pawdington purrs in approval, so you put them on. You two are now colleagues and you should try to get along, right?

She pokes the bow tie so it bumps your hand.

“No way.”

She replies with an urgent meow.

“It's _his_ bow tie. _I can't wear it._ ” You are not sure which word to stress in the second sentence, so you stress all of them just to be on the safe side. Lady Pawdington's unimpressed look tells you that it made it lost the meaning of the stressing.

You cross your arms: “If you are so smart, be Fate yourself. I am sure you are going to do a great job, just like the last time when you were filling in.”

“Meow.”

“Sorry. I... I am lost and nervous and- and scared and I have no idea what to do. I shouldn't take it out on you.”

She head-butts your stomach, but gently.

You find the gesture endearing. Really, it makes your morning. Look at her. She is also trying her best, right? “I am still not going to wear that bow tie, though. Hey! Where are you going?”

Lady Pawdington has either no interest or time for your sentiment towards your former superior, because she jumps off the desk and darts out of the room. Maybe she's got the zoomies? But you can't let her roam free! Who knows whose important paperwork she is going to steal this time! After her! The fate of the world is in her little thieving paws!

That ball of cute fluff takes an elevator, the light signals helpfully inform you that she is going upstairs. Since the elevator is taken, you are going to have some workout and take the stairs. You have never tried to outrun an elevator.

“Sorry!” You apologize to the Angel – no wait, Virtue, they are called Virtues – you accidentally deck, and then to the janitor you run through. You land on the next floor on all four as you loose your footing on the slippery polished floor tiles, eyes focused on the elevator door. No, it is still going up. You scramble yourself to feet much like other people scramble eggs. You've been exercising for barely twenty seconds and you already hate it.

Next floor, this time you make it without any collision. You manage to catch a glimpse of Lady Pawdington just as the doors of the elevator are closing. As you growl and make your way upwards, taking it three stairs at one step, you are willing to swear the cat was smirking at you! That... that beast!

So now you've sprinted three flights of stairs up. If you had any lungs to speak of, you would be desperately searching for breath. This way only your thighs hurt. You allow yourself to stop in fornt of the elevator, but that is only because Lady Pawdingtong is patiently sitting there, too, licking her paws. When you approach her, she spares you a glance as if saying 'finally.'

You are about to make a grab for her and let her know what exactly you think about this morning jogging she's put you through, but as you make the move, the cat gets up and proceeds down the corridor, just quick enough so you can't capture her. You wait for the opportunity when she sits down again, and you are preparing for the perfect tiger's leap when-

“Morning, Fate. I was curious if you'd show up.”

You look up. It is the snake head from yesterday, from the bar.

“Uh. Good morning.”

They look at you, head tilted, forked tongue lashing the air. In snakes and lizards that means they are sniffing, right? They have just sniffed you. Without any knowledge of snake mimic, though, their face is unreadable. The glasses are not helping.

“Oh,” they nod suddenly. “I forgot. Fate of Reptiles. Pleasure to meet you.”

You shake the offered hand. It is exactly the same temperature as yours, which is what you were expecting; Beings in the Office are not exactly alive, and so they have no body heat, because they do not need it. “Fate of Humans. But you already know that.”

“Well, after you,” Fate of Reptiles opens the door in front of which you are staying, and holds it for you.

You have no idea what is going on. Are you supposed to go in? Let's not make it weird, in you go. You spare last glance to Lady Pawdington over Fate of Reptiles' shoulder, she slowly blinks at you. Come to think of it, if you were supposed to be here, she probably knew that from Fate's routine, and therefore lead you here on purpose, you suppose. Your life would be so much easier if that cat could talk. Then again, you are almost certain her talk would be mostly vulgar and profane.

The room is smaller than the grim office, but larger than your current office. It is good enough for a long oval table surrounded with chairs. Various Fates are sitting there, but you recognize only Glasses from yesterday.

Fate of Reptiles notices what is drawing your attention as you both sit down at the table, and whispers: “Fate of Plants.”

Ah, so that is the mysterious plant department.. Dog-head over there is probably Fate of Dogs. And those writhing tentacles in suit are maybe the Fate of Octopuses? Octopi? Octopedes? What is the correct plural of octopus?

Within a couple of minutes nearly all the chairs are taken. The clock on the wall shows that it is seven in the morning; as a Death you used to start your day at 8:30 AM. Fates have it hectic... Five seconds later walks in a very femininely looking Being in a bright yellow suit. She sits down at the head of the table, the light in the window behind her framing her hourglass silhouette, and she spares the assorted company a quick glance.

“Good morning everyone. I am to pass you all a memo from Magenta that in three days the central heating is going to be turned off for yearly maintenance, do accommodate your charges properly. I am looking at you, Reptiles, I know your department gets slowed down. Additionally, Butterflies is having yet another observation trip for the following week, so everything with his department you refer to Sir Whiskers. Now, where, pray tell by the grace of Equilibrium, is Humans? Did he scamper off again?”

You feel a number of eyes turned to you, without a doubt all Fates who were in the bar yesterday evening.

Easy. Take a breath. Gather all your courage. Look at Yellow: “I am present.”

She glares at you. Unlike the Fates she is not wearing glasses, so you see the murder in her eyes. Her general disapproval of your very existence floods the room and you nearly drown in it. Good think you've had training from Fate in how to swim in this. You don't look away.

“Kchm. Well, since we have far more pressing matters than you right now, I shall deal with you later. Be in your office this evening. Do not go anywhere.” And with that her focus slides off you like lava off a volcano. “Today's topic at hand: Everyone's favourite – greenhouse gasses. Now I know we've gone over it the last week, but there's been a 0.002% increase since then, and I want you to balance your departments accordingly. Besides we have been talking about the 10th planet project. Whales, have you got your presentation ready?”

Thus you proceed to spend the following half an hour of having a very vague idea at best and absolutely no clue at worst about what is going on and what all these people are talking about. You notice Yellow shooting you suspicious looks from time to time, so once the board meeting is over, you decide not to risk anything, stick close to Reptiles and exit the room as the fourteenth person before you head downstairs alongside the Fate of Seas, whose position revelation solved your problem with the spelling of the correct plural of octopus, and the Fate of Children who asks you if you have any candy. Even if you had any candy, you wouldn't hare with them, though. Candy is bad for the teeth. And good for the nerves. You would like some candy for yourself...

Once you are back in your office, you lock the door behind yourself.

“Lady Pawdington, are you here?”

No reply. You somehow expected her to be back, but the room is curiously lacking in cats. You search for her for a while, even fishing out the Gerbil from under the rather large shelf of files upon files. The soul-possessing toy is dusty, so you do your best to make it look a bit better.

That is when the familiar light on the table reminds you of work: a hefty stack of papers has just appeared on the desk. You should take care of it. It is your desk after all. You sit down and start reading from the top.  
Success for a new brand of cigarettes. (No. Smoking kills.)

Moon County office allowing to open borders (...Maybe? You need context for this...)  
Wildfire. (Extinguish? Potential firefighter's death, send to a Death Spawn # 53)

And it goes on. You are trying to think it through, what the consequences of each of your decision would be, but not overthink it, because you find yourself so quickly overwhelmed by the possibilities. You wish your lamp could help you here, but even when you mount it on the desk and shine its light on the papers you have already filled, you don't see the impact on the world. And the Threnody snow globe remains stubbornly blue and unchanging. Perhaps it means you are making the right choices. Perhaps it is broken. Maybe it ran out of battery.

When you reach the bottom of the pile, you are still left with a stack of cases you don't know what to do with. You try to consult the literature, certainly there are things you can cross-reference the cases with. Or at least a book of directives or rules, Fate would have something like this, wouldn't he? It turns out a lot of searching later that there is nothing that would help you in this regard. All the books here are files of various employees, magic you do not comprehend, and a slim pick of free-verse poetry.

“No wonder Fate saw no escape,” you muse to yourself, “given the company he's kept here. All these saccharine lines of innuendo would drive anyone to the breaking point.” You also have the feeling the poetry is particularly bad, even though it is the first poetry you've ever seen. Where did Fate even get it from? Was it a birthday present? The idea of Fate having a birthday seems absurd to you.

Speaking of birthdays, happy one month to you. You almost forgot. You decide to treat yourself to some more paperwork. That is how you figure out the very neat trick with the death-dependent events. It is a happy little accident, really. It goes like this: The fate of the gummy bear producing factory depends on whether or not the janitor puts too much soap into their bucket of mopping water, which could potentially leave the floors very slick the following morning, probably causing the inspector visiting that day to slip and fall into a vat of jelly where they meet their ultimate demise. As you are reaching into the pen holder cup on the desk for a marker, you grab the death marker. It is familiar in your hand. When you open the marker to fidget with it above the paper before you make your ultimate decision, the paper whispers sadly and shimmers before your eyes to change into the profile of James C. Lark Sr. (56, food inspector) and then it shifts back when you move the marker away.

You make an experiment: You draw a little dot on the corner of the profile and move the marker away. It remains to be a profile. You stuff it into the deus fax machina, and it safely reaches the table of Death Spawn #02. You knew that there was too few profiles for the Grim Reapers to sort out! This was it. This is where most of them came from. Secrets of the univese, or at least of the Office, can't stay hidden from you! The rest of the paperwork is a piece of cake after it, with enough time left for you to pop down to Mortimer's to try to coax ice-cream out of him. Not that he has any ice-cream or that you feel like it right now.

Carambole!  
You are content on familiarizing yourself with the books of magic for the rest of the day, even though you understand only the pictures and at that not all of them. In the evening the Death Spawns come for their daily evaluation. From time to time a stack of marked profiles appears on your table and you do your best to keep them organized so you do not drown in papers come dusk.

Finally the door creaks and you can stop being so restless. Here they come.

It is Lady Pawdington.

Behind her stands Yellow, looking like your personal Judgement Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing: I've gotten more ideas.  
> Second thing: My descriptions have gotten lightly out of hand and elongated.  
> Conclusion: There is no way I can fit all this into three chapters.  
> Plea: Feed me comments?


	3. The Conclusion (of sorts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How the story would have ended (if the author could be bothered).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> The good news is that I am still alive, just didn't have writing in me and I would rather not write at all, than write poorly. Many times I tried to tackle the what I believed were the last two chapters of this story, and many times I failed.  
> Even better news: On 29th of October (that is yesterday the moment I write this) came out the Halloween update to Death and Taxes. The update is great, I recommend, even though I personally am slightly distraught I am not even given the chance to flirt with the Archivist. I wanted to do that ever since I saw them waddling in the cellar-library now Abysmal Archive in what I thought was a nightgown and a nightcap, and what turns out to be silky silky white hair and a white cape. Um. I digress.  
> Slightly sad news: When I began writing this story, I had no idea that the aforementioned update was coming. Now the update is out and about and it revealed that the Office doesn't work as I originally imagined, making this story "not canon-compatible". Sad but true. With how the lore is constructed, this story wouldn't work, and as such I lost the drive to finish it.  
> Somewhat good take on the sad news: I still got attached to the story and I want to finish telling it. It is probably also mighty possible that *YOU* got attached to it or at least want to know how it would end. So. The Conclusion (of sorts) is to outline for you how the story would go. Here we go:

Grim, now newly the Fate of Humans would be confronted by Yellow, the person who coordinates the Fates. You remember Yellow from the morning board meeting, right? Even though Office people have they/them pronouns by default, I think about Yellow as a "good" Karen, and therefore she will be referred to as she/her here, even though in the story that probably wouldn't be the case). Yellow would be super upset with Grim for posing as a Fate (here is where the story diverges from canon: Canon now confirms there is one Fate, **the** Fate, not one Fate per department) even though they are not.

Before the conflict between Grim and Yellow could be resolved (or Grim even explain themselves), Lady Pawdington would enter the office followed by Cyan who oversees internal affairs. It would be revealed that Lady Pawdington is an Office worker who was tasked with practically being Fate's personal therapist. Also that she can talk, but is only understood by creatures with whom she's made a special magical bond, like Cyan or old Fate. Now obviously Lady Pawdington failed hard at her job and is facing being fired for that. Grim stands up for Lady Pawdington in this case, perhaps even indirectly accusing Cyan of not providing enough mental support to _anyone_ in the Office.

The Fate of Reptiles enters the scene. Originally he wanted to check up on Grim how they are holding up, but seeing Cyan and Yellow he understands that Grim is in deep trouble. He then tells Yellow that it is not unprecedented for a Death to take over a Fate who has gone off the rails, that it has happened before, so if they could all ease up before he takes it all the way to the top, which nobody wants to do.

It is agreed that Grim's paperwork of officially becoming the Fate will be done tomorrow and everything seems to be fine again until Grim mentions that old Fate of Humans is no-one-knows where. Yellow and Cyan and Fate of Reptiles are horrified by learning that, because you can't let a person with the powers of a Fate run in human world unsupervised without them even answering to anybody. Grim is told that they have to find Fate before it is too late (without specifying what too late is). Grim recruits Lady Pawdington on that task because she knows Fate better than anyone, and also because they don't want her to be fired, because what does it even mean to be fired here? Probably end of existence...

With the help of Fate of Reptiles Grim navigates Fate's book on magic, mostly to create a more Fate-appropriate visage and also to forge a magical bond with Lady Pawdington. The cat has a couple of witty remarks here and there, but is actually very supportive of Grim and also she is kind instead of incredibly sassy as one would think. It is especially helpful, as Grim as they mantle the whole Fate thing develop new powers that they do not really know how to use properly or how to cope with. One of the most important powers, besides being able to perform magic and alchemy, is the ability to see possible futures for the humans (compared to which the desk lamp is a pitiful piece of junk).

Somewhere along this it is implied or revealed that the overseer of Virtues/Angels and Vices/Demons is Magenta. Somewhere in would probably also fir Red, Green and Blue, all this overseen by Black and White, probably. CYM would definitely be a thing, though.

After a couple of very very long Days Grim finally tracks down Fate (ironically to the Cosmopolis City) thanks to small ripples he caused and which appeared in various reports and profiles and other paperwork Grim reads. With this Grim goes to tell Yellow that they are going out to confront Fate. Fate of Reptiles, who has over the time grown to be Grim's friend, goes with them.

Fate is found in a pub with a group of journalist students and and beginning writers. He doesn't recognize neither Grim nor Reptiles. Overhearing the group's conversation we learn that Fate has lived for now under the name D. Estin (D. presumably standing for "Daniel" or "Dunghead", depends on which speaker you believe), that he writes short stories for several journals, magazines, and occasionally writes something for the newspaper too. Also he is a very cold cucumber and isn't talking to people and the group doesn't let Grim nor a bit more aggressive Reptiles talk to him, so no luck there.

Grim notices a Carombolle leaderboard with D. Estin all the way on the top of it. Thinking fast, Grim signs themselves up to the next competition (under the name Grimauld Reaper. "Grimauld?" asks the barkeeper. "Isn't that in France?" Grim: "Uh, yes. Um, I am lucky my parents didn't meet in [insert city/town as a punchline].") which is conveniently soon (like tomorrow or in two days or "next Thursday"). Having practice from the bar, Grim has no problem getting to the finale of the match where they face Fate "D. Estin" and they dance a tied match for quite the time.

During this face-off, Grim is trying to subtly tell Fate that it is him, his last Death Spawn, but they can't say it outright, because everyone is watching, so they are trying to make hints in a conversation. Fate, however, is dismissing them all as coincidences and doesn't react until Grim hits a specific one. It would be either "Lemon, spice, human eyes" Death Spawn brew, or (more likely) "If a tree falls in the forest, death and taxes?" Fate replies something vague like "That doesn't make any sense" and with one shot propels himself to undeniable victory, making it obvious he was deliberately stretching the duel. Feeling somewhat devastated, Grim takes to leave.

However, Fate catches up with Grim outside of the pub with the "what the hell are you doing here?"'s and "can't I have my existence in peace?"'s. The Fate of Reptiles appears, complaining that Grim is taking too long and that he is going to deal with Fate for them. He has a knife and it is obvious that he wants to kill Fate. He has a dramatic speech, explaining that he is the only other Grim Reaper to ever mantle Fate, and that he killed his own boss when the old Fate of Reptiles went nuts and decided to wipe out all life on Earth by flinging a gigantic rock on it, the event which caused the mass extinction of dinosaurs. Grim, while moved by hearing this (and Fate going "oh, so this is what happened then"), stops Reptiles from killing Fate, because he sees the future in which Fate would die in this moment, and that future is absolutely horrible.

Fate realizes as the first of them that this means that not only Grim now has all powers of a Fate, but also that he is truly and wholly human now, because otherwise Grim wouldn't be able to see his future, and most likely his powers transferred to Grim because he resigned his position to them willingly. Grim concludes that this means the issue of "an unsupervised person with powers of a Fate" is solved. They and D. Estin exchange farewells, and together with Reptiles Grim returns to the office.

A few Days later a package arrives for Grim-Fate via mail. It is a copy of the Greatest Novel of All Time. Story ends as Grim opens the book and starts reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments release the happy brain chemical for the author, and the author bloody damn needs them. Also, all feedback would be awesome. If you need to keysmash to get your thoughts out, you are more than welcome to.


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